Objects in the mirror may be closer than you think...

It has come to that time in a young woman's life again.  Time to get some new clothes.

As a mom, and woman in her late 30's, I have come to notice a few things about myself and the way I veiw my body.....

I DON'T want to view my body.

I have been doing the Weight Watchers for quite a while now, and it has come to the point where my clothes are starting to get a little ridiculous looking.  They are too big, they are hanging off of me, and I keep having to hitch up my pants.  In fact, a while back whilst walking in the Target, my pants actually fell down.  Thank God I was not in an aisle with anyone else, because that would have just been humiliating. For that person.   

I am still hanging on to my old clothes because, well, they are just super comfortable now.  They

were always super tight before, and now they are so roomy!  I like that my yoga pants are so loose that they get all twisted up on me when I am sleeping at night.  I like that my shirt is loose enough that I can pull my knees up under it when I am cold and make a little heat tent for myself.  I love that my jeans actually feel like pajama jeans now even though they are not.

But yesterday the admiral was looking at me, with what I thought was a 'hey baby' look, and just as I went walk over to him to wrap my arms around his neck, he says, "You think it may be time to go buy some new clothes?  What is going on with that shirt?  And your jeans are super baggy in the butt."  Mood sufficiently killed.

Had I not been with this man since we were 15 years old, I would have been all offended probably, but at this point in our lives, there are bigger fish to fry in the offensive pool, than just a comment about clothes.

I went over to the mirror and took a look, and for the first time I realized how bad it was. 

I looked homeless. 

This is what my husband, kids, and people I babysit for have been looking at for a long time now.
Time to go shopping.

But this is the thing.  I haaaaaaaaaate shopping for myself. I do.  I turn into Ebeneezer Scrooge, and my purse clenches tighter than Gollum guarding his 'precious'. 

This is how it will inevitably go down:

I will get all of the kids to bed, because I refuse to shop for clothes with any kind of baggage over my head, including texts from the admiral of "where is?", "How do I?", and "What do they?" .  I do not want to be interrupted from my well deserved personal hell to answer questions about the little people who are the cause of the havoc wreaked on my body.  I do not need the reminder that I am a mother of four, and have the abs to prove it.

I will then head out to my favorite place to feel depressed about clothes, Old Navy.  I shop there, because honestly, they sometimes carry the size I need, and most of the time, they have bright colors, and I look much better in bright colors.  Bright fat is much prettier to look at than black, grey, or beige fat.  And the commercials are pretty awesome, right?  All of these cute model type people looking all perfect and amazing in it.  Having fun family time on vacation, or having a picnic or swimming together.  "Come shop here, and we will give you the life you always wanted!"  I fall for it every time. 

I will spend the first 15 minutes I am there trying to convince myself that it is ok to look at the regular rack, instead of heading right to clearance.  I love the clearance rack, but the problem is I need summery type clothes, and right now, clearance is all winter stuff.  I don't need that.  But when I get there, I am compelled to shop it, and end up coming home with 5 long sleeve shirts to wear in the 90 degree humid weather we have here in Ohio.  No good.

I finally talk myself out of clearance, and head over to look at shorts.

I look all over for just the right pair of shorts, in my size, in a color I like, that are not too short, and not to long, (being short with Corgi legs, this is a feat in and of itself), and shorts that 'speak' to me.  "Come buy me!  We will do things together!  We will be fun, and play games, and go to the beach together!  It will be a summer to remember if you spend it with me!"  

I find that unicorn, that pair of shorts that are all of these things.  Adorable pattern, perfect length, possibly my size, and shouting "We will make beautiful memories together this summer!"  I head to the back, to try them on.

Side note here, what is UP with those little kiosk looking changing rooms with the curtain in the middle of the shopping area?  Any crazy person can walk buy and just open that thing!  This is a terrible idea, and when I have kids with me, I will never ever ever set foot in one of those things.  That is just asking for a YouTube video of my naked butt!

I get back there and take off my shoes,
take off my pants,
and pull on the shorts.

The first thing I notice is, my hairy white-as-snow legs with all of the awesome blue veins just screaming out for some kind of sun.  It is like my legs are gasping at the light, "NOO!!!  It stings!  Put the jeans back on!"  I then fasten the shorts, (most of the time you can insert the word 'try' here as well.) which are probably too tight, and look at my muffin top.  I sigh, because in my head when I picked these out I could envision myself wearing these.  Now as I look at myself busting out of them like a can of biscuits, I am unhappy because I am:  a) not as far along as I thought I was in the weight loss, and b)bummed because there are no bigger sizes available. However,  Kiki the clerk says there will be more in later in the month. 

Now I am standing here bummed because I look like this in these shorts, bummed because I have to go back out there and look again, bummed because Kiki is a size 2, 22 years old, and doesn't know anything about having kids, and is looking at me with pity on her face, to which I know in her head she is thinking 'poor old lady', and I don't want to even be shopping for clothes in the first place!

I take the shorts off, and I watch myself in front of the largest mirror in the history of mirrors.  I see every ripple, roll, and stretch mark, every lump of cellulite,  as I wiggle out of these shorts that once were so cute to me, and now I view these shorts as a betrayal.  I think to myself, "Look at you, shorts, you looked so cute and adorable on the shelf.  You lured me in, shorts. I fell for it.  I did.  You told me I would be prettier with you on.  You and I were going to do things together this summer.  You and me shorts, against the world.  But it was all just a ploy to get me naked in a room full of mirrors.  You are the worst kind of evil, shorts.  I abhor you. I refuse to let you do this to any other woman!"  as I hang them as crookedly as possible back on the hanger, letting the true size and shape of them show, no tucking of the waistband into itself to make it look smaller on the rack.  It will be seen for its true nature!

I will go through this about 80 more times. I will maybe find a pair or two of shorts that are ok, but not awesome, and a couple of shirts that aren't terrible, but mostly I end up leaving the store poorer, and pretty depressed. 

I do, however,  feel like Old Navy knows what they are doing, though. They know that most of the women leaving their store are going to walk out feeling pretty awful about themselves.  How do I know this? Because right outside of the parking lot, there is a McDonalds with their giant sign for a "McCafe!!" and a Krispie Kreme with their "Hot Donut" sign blazing bright red. 

Bastards.